last wishes of an old hero
by thatguyisaight
Summary: a grizzled old veteran is followed by haunting visions of his past, but can a young woman and a note on a nightstand possibly bring joy back into a hardened and broken heart? rated m for violence, possible gore and possible lemon.


**Howdy ya'll! Its Thatguy again with a little something I've been working on! Its a bit i jotted down as practice for an essay i was writing, and i decided to upload it. lemme know if you wanna hear more! Always remember to comment, share and favorite! any feedback is good feedback. lemme know if you wanna hear any more. (btw i dont own skyrim or any characters associated with it, only OCs)**

**-THATGUYISAIGHT**

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"I've lived a long life I suppose. Seen my fair share of bloodshed, my fair share of triumph. That time has passed though. I used to be great, used to be known throughout skyrim as a hero. Hell I used to be called dragonborn, though I haven't heard that name in quite a while."

"Now... Now im an old man. Even for a wood elf, my life has gone on longer than most. I'm an elder now, my old bones creak and my lungs are full of dust. I pass my time with odd jobs while I travel, nothing else seems to interest me anymore. I've all but forgotten about those words of power I used, bringing an unheard language back from the depths of time. The only strength I have now are my keen eyes and sharp wit, and even those have begun to fail me in my many years. Well, I guess my time is coming soon, I just hope i'm ready for it.

His inner monologue ended as he came across a small pond. He sighed as he dropped the bag of belongings on the ground, and sat down on a log by the pool. Looking down, he saw his face reflected in the mirror-like surface. White milky eyes, a trait wood elves receive at around the 200 year mark. Dirt almost covered the three large scars across his face. He chuckled when he saw them. "Alduin's parting gift." he said to himself. He removed the tattered hood from his head, seeing his long brown hair starting to show streaks of gray. His beard was tied in a knot, underlying his dry and cracked lips. He broke eye contact with himself, bringing up his right hand. A single ebony gauntlet adourned it, various marks and scratches telling tales of many the many marks of war and time, there were names carved into the metal. His fingers slowly brushed along them, and a tear began to well in his eye. All the friends he'd lost in his life. Lydia, Benor, Mjoll. Tears started to flow more freely seeing the next few. Ysolda, Lucia and Blaise. His late wife and kids. Just seeing their names brought back flashes of that night.

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Fire and smoke and chaos filled the air, waking him. He stood up, knocking the empty flasks off the table. It took him a few seconds to compose himself, brought back to reality by screaming echoed through the halls, cut short and followed by sickening laughter. He ran to the bedroom his wife and kids shared. His knees gave way as he saw the bodies on the floor. Ysolda's clothes were torn, his kids were beaten and bruised. Blood pooled around the bodies. He crawled over to the bodies, pulling his kids into his arms. he snapped his head back and screamed as blood began to soak his clothes. He screamed until his lungs couldnt scream anymore. his head lowered back to his kids, lifeless in his arms, tears rolling down his face. He didnt care anymore. Fire crept into the room, slowly climbing up the walls. He refused to notice it moving closer, threatening to engulf him in his now empty home. Laughter brought him out of his stupor. He strained his ears, hearing voices outside. Rage began to cloud his mind, and his body begining to shake.

He lay his children next to his wife, closing their eyes and folding their arms. A final prayer was all he could offer as he ran out of the room and to the basement. Charred beams groaned under the strain of the house and smoke filled the air as he rushed to the dusty chest in the far end of the basement. He flipped it open, pulling his old gear out, and strapping it on. He grabbed his ebony sword, hooking it to his side, and pulled out his dragonbone bow. Slinging a quiver over his back, he turned and rushed out of the basement. The main hall had become engulfed in flames, smoke filling the air and flames licking up the walls. He walked through the hall, once filled with laughter and happiness. He looked toward the bedroom one last time. the entire room was ablaze, he could no longer see his family on the floor. His hatred faltered for but a moment, but voices from outside reignited the flames within him.

The bandits laughed and joked as they continued to lauch fire spells at the house. Three stood nearby the entrance to the building, fighting over a large bag of items they stole from the burning building.

"I want that staff!"

"Screw you gladiel! you got to have that woman, I get first choice!"

"If I recall correctly Markus, you got to kill those two brats, I think that makes us even! and I want that staff!"

" Shut up! both of you! dont you remember whose in charge here! The boss gets first choice of thi-"

The middle bandit was cut short, falling over the open bag, the wooden shaft of an arrow protruding from the back of his skull.

"What in Oblivion was that!"

They quickly turned to the doorway, only to see another arrow fly through the smoke, hitting one of the bandits in the chest. The third began to yell, alerting his comrades to the attack. He stopped when he saw a figure all but materialize out of the smoke.

A slightly smoldering Thalmor robe did little to cover the carved nordic chest plate worn by the figure. Ebony gauntlets gripped a large bow he had never seen before. It was pale white, reflecting the fire so much it seemed to be burning itself. A dark hood covered the figures face, showing only a gritted teeth and the shine of eyes filled with hatred.

"What have we awoken..."

The bandit stood frozen as the figure drew another arrow on the bow. The bandit could only watch, petrified by fear, as the arrow soared through the air and impacted his chest, knocking him onto his back as he struggled for breath that wasnt there.

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He felt shivers run up his spine as he remembered the thought. His ungloved hand reached up and grasped at the two rings hanging from a chain on his neck. One was gold, the other was black and charred. He dropped his hand, the feeling of those rings almost singeing his fingers with the sadness and rage that erupted. He took out his bow, making sure the string was taut and that the material would hold. The glistening white bone seemed to entrance him for a second, the moonlight shining off a surface as smooth as the water in front of him. The flame enchantment faintly glowed, weakened after many a use.

His eyes looked up to the sky and he whispered a silent prayer before resuming his travels. His mind flickered back to that night as his foot hit the heavily trodden road. A single image frozen in time. Most of the ensuing battle with the bandits had faded from memory, but one image stood perfectly clear. The bandit leader laughing, a dark hood almost covering his blood red eyes.


End file.
